


a cup of coffee for you

by tanyart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Casual Confessions, Coffee, Flirting, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 17:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1396063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU where coffee exists; stubborn boys trying to find out how they take their coffee together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a cup of coffee for you

**Author's Note:**

> For Erejean Week! Title and fic mostly inspired by a cute pair of lines from 70 Million by Hold Your Horses. 
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _And a cup of coffee for you,_  
>  _I should learn its language and speak it to you_

Levi’s deal with the trade merchants lands them a constant supply of coffee most of the reformed special ops squad won’t even touch on account of finding it undrinkable.  Jean says it’s a damn waste of Levi’s ruthless bargaining talents, which is the official reason why he’s adamant about forcing himself to drink it.  Unofficially, though, Eren starts finding himself in the cabin kitchen more often, sitting across from Jean as they stare unenthusiastically into their cups.

They sit together for as long as it takes them to finish their coffee.  It takes a while, because sometimes they end up talking about things like the gray areas of Erwin’s plans, or hypothetical maneuver gear techniques, or how Connie seems to be getting better, bit by bit. 

Maybe it starts off as an excuse for Jean to chat with Eren.  Eren thinks it might be, ever since the squad had piled on Jean for his habit of lecturing. Then again, Jean _still_ lectures Eren and argues with him at every other word over coffee, but this time Jean has the tendency to lift the cup to his mouth to hide a smile, and the words don’t seems as patronizing as Eren remembers them being.

So it starts as an excuse for Jean, but not for Eren.  He will say yes to a cup if Jean offers, and he will agree with Jean that it is the grossest drink between all three walls.  They will disagree about _why_ and _how_ coffee is gross, but then Jean will set a cup in front of Eren—“ _this time, it’s a spoon of cream and sugar each_ ”, and Jean leans a little closer to him with each new cup.  

Though he doesn’t like the taste, coffee is something Eren remembers in vivid, visceral detail.  He knows it in quiet, unspectacular moments, like in the way the smell would fill up his father’s room on certain nights, or how Captain Levi would absently hold a cup towards Erwin in the mornings.  More recently Eren thinks of Petra, and how she had known to brew straight black for Erd, drop in two sugars for Oluo, fill half with milk for Gunther, and had been the only one allowed to make Levi’s complicated cup of coffee.

 _The trick_ , Petra had told him, holding her sleeve to the edge of the cup _, is to put enough cream so the coffee is precisely three shades darker than our coats_.

 “Maybe someday you’ll find your perfect cup,” Petra had said with a laugh when she had asked if he’d like some himself.

Eren never gets to find out, not even in the weeks later, and then there’s Jean.  Jean, who scrapes his chair as he stands, clinks his spoon against his glass, and talks loudly when he thinks Eren isn’t listening enough.  He sets another cup down in front of Eren, the dark smell filling Eren’s nose, and Eren still thinks of quiet mornings and thoughtful gestures, and a special kind of comfortable familiarity that makes him want to chase after the space Jean leaves when he returns to his seat.

“Maybe we’ll find a way to make coffee the way we like it,” says Jean, making a face after he takes a sip.

“We’ll find it,” Eren says, and tries not to grimace too hard as he finishes his cup.

* * *

Eren wakes up to Jean shoving a cup of coffee in his face.

“Three sugars, some milk and some cinnamon,” Jean says, hot liquid sloshing over the rim and onto Eren’s neck and his bed sheets.

The spilled coffee evaporates over Eren’s skin, leaving a bitter, acidic smell that makes them both wrinkle their nose.  Eren blinks, sitting up slowly as his torn joints creak, and he reaches for the cup.  _It’s the pain_ , he thinks as his burning eyes start to water.  It’s the steam, and the leftover frustration of never being able to remember how the experiments go.  And it’s Jean, acting like it’s just another morning at the kitchen table.

Jean’s shoulders sag in relief as Eren starts to drink.

“This is the worst one,” Eren chokes, dribbling coffee from his chin.

“Shut up, you don’t even have a whole mouth yet.  What do you know?” Jean snaps, reaching back for the cup.

Eren turns away, blocking Jean.  “I’m _drinking_ here.”

“You are _literally_ crying into the cup!  Stop it if it’s that bad!”

“So what?  You’re crying too! I can _taste_ the salt in this,” Eren gurgles, slurping furiously.  Maybe his head isn’t all healed yet or maybe it’s delirium, but he resolves to drink all of it, like he always does, broken or not.  That way, he will know for sure three sugars, some milk and some cinnamon really isn’t how he likes his coffee.  “It’s so gross.  How many tears went into making this?”

“You asshole!”  Jean makes a grab for Eren’s wrist, forcing the cup away from Eren’s mouth.  He looks embarrassed and upset, but he brings the cup to his mouth, bottom lip touching the side of Eren’s thumb.  He sips, glaring at him as if to prove a point.

And spits all over Eren’s bed sheets.

“Salt,” Jean sputters, sinking down and wiping his mouth. “I added salt instead of sugar.”

Eren thinks he can still feel the tingle of Jean’s lip against his thumb.  The cup slips a little in his grip, but Jean’s hand is still steadying his.  It’s dizzying and wonderful, even when his body hurts so much. 

Eren laughs until he faints back into bed.

* * *

The perfect cup of coffee comes days later.  Jean sets it in front of Eren and leans against the table with his own cup in hand.  They’re both resigned by this point, absently drinking while they talk about the newest Military Police stunt on Eren’s life.

They aren’t five minutes into complaining about the inconvenience of it all when Eren’s lifts the cup to his mouth and finds it empty.  He looks down, the dark milky taste and hint of honey sweetness still on his tongue.  After a moment, he holds out the cup.

“Refill?”

Jean stares, long enough for the both of them to start turning red in the face for no good reason.

“Listen, if you don’t want to make me another at least tell me what you put in it,” Eren says, breaking the silence and standing up.

“Yeah,” says Jean, and it’s hard to tell if he sounds happy or irritated.  “Yeah, I’ll show you.” But he takes Eren’s cup and pours more coffee from the pot, explaining in detail how much honey and milk he stirs in like it’s the most complicated recipe known to humanity.

It’s so simple—just a spoon of honey and a splash of milk—but Eren leans over Jean’s shoulder to watch anyway.

* * *

“No one’s going to think less of you if you don’t like coffee,” Eren says one morning. “Why do you keep forcing yourself?”

Jean raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

“I’m talking about coffee here, Jean, not the strength and perseverance of humanity.”

“Oh, not that old argument?” Jean says, sarcastic, but he quiets down, shrugging.

Because even after Eren settles in his morning coffee routine, Jean still tries a new cup every time.  Three sugars yesterday, to the brim with cream today, and then maybe a quarter up with milk tomorrow.  With the way Jean is going, Eren starts to doubt Jean will ever be a coffee person.

“Because it gives me something to do,” Jean says eventually. “It’s fun.”

“Choking down a cup of coffee every other morning is fun?” Eren repeats in disbelief.

“With you it is,” Jean says in one breath, almost as if it had been an accident.

Eren pauses. His ears feel like they’re heating up, but he shakes his head, exasperated.  He holds out his cup.  “Have you ever tried drinking tea instead?”

Jean clinks his cup with Eren’s and takes a sip.  “Not a chance.”

* * *

Jean’s perfect cup of coffee is cream and two spoons of sugar.  Eren swears Jean has already tried that cup ages ago, but he isn’t about to complain.

“Miracles do happen, Jean,” Eren whispers in exaggerated awe.

“I really think I tricked myself into liking it. Or I’ve been drinking it for so long my taste buds are now dead,” Jean replies, sullen.

The coffee in their cups doesn’t last, but the conversation does.

* * *

Eren learns the actual trick to liking coffee doesn’t have anything to do with drinking it. 

He stirs in two spoons of sugar and a bit of cream, just enough to watch his dark reflection disappear in a deep caramel swirl.  He lifts the cup, wisps of steam curling around his wrist, and the brief warmth tingles against his skin as he makes his way out of the kitchen. 

Jean sleeps with his face half-buried into his pillow and an arm thrown over his head.  Eren shakes him awake, catching the fist that comes flying to hit him.  If he happens to spill a little on the floor, it’s only because it’s his first time bringing the coffee.  He’ll get it right next time.

“Morning,” he says, squeezing Jean’s hand before he lets it slide from his grasp. 

Jean opens his eyes, still dull and unseeing from waking, and takes a deep breath, turning his face back into his pillow.  Eren catches a glimpse of a sleepy smile, the meaningless kind of expression leftover from a good dream, and he impulsively kneels down for a closer look.

“I smell coffee,” Jean mumbles, cheek still pressed to the pillow.  He blinks, head coming up.  The smile on his face is gone, but he only looks awake and surprised.

“Yeah,” says Eren, resting his arms at the edge of the bed, and cradles the cup between his palms.  “I’ve been meaning to make you a cup for a while.  You took so long finding what you liked.”

Jean sits up, looking from the cup to Eren’s face.  “Wouldn’t have mattered,” he says, only half incoherent as he tries to rub the sleep out of his eyes.  He reaches for the cup, fingers settling over Eren’s hand, and puts his mouth to the rim, which is really only a polite formality before he bends down to kiss Eren.

And it’s perfect.


End file.
